


Icehopper

by Ayngelcat



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Inscecticon snow capers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-20 22:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayngelcat/pseuds/Ayngelcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another fic I wrote a while back which I've hauled from an obscure place. The time of year seems appropriate. I confess to it being a favourite, besides which - Insecticons need love :-)</p><p>Originally written for tf_speedwriting; prompt: "Snow White."</p><p>Kickback has fun in the snow. Which does not provide quite so much amusement to fellow Insecticons.</p><p>*Warning* for extreme Insectifluff :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Icehopper

Bombshell and Shrapnel huddled at the front of the cave which was serving as a base, not far from the main Decepticon facility. As far as the optic could see, an expanse of white covered the landscape beneath a bleak grey sky. Here and there rocks peeked out from under the blanket, and a few trees stood still and stiff, snow falling in clumps now and then from laden branches.  
  
Bombshell shivered. “I don’t care much for this weather!” he said. “I had a most dreadful night’s sleep you know, Shrapnel!” The ice got right into my seams. Do you know I had to perform a heat sequence this morning before I could transform? I even had an icicle hanging from my canon!”  
  
“Don’t tell me about it, it!” Shrapnel agreed. “My antlers were covered in frost, frost! At least Megatron could invited us into his base, base or provided some central heating, heating!”  
  
“Can’t move through this snow stuff either,” Bombshell grumbled. “Even in root mode its hard work and in alt mode – well – what a joke! And it’s darned cold on the old pedes.”  
  
“Yes, yes, frustrating, frustrating!” said Shrapnel. “Can fly over it, but it’s tiring, tiring!” His antlers twitched, little sparks emerging from the tips. “I’d fire up a good storm, storm,” he said. “Except that with that sky, it would only bring down more of the stuff, stuff.”  
  
“Indeed, indeed,” Bombshell concurred. “We never had to put up with this in Bali!”  
  
“Hmmmnnn …” the two Insecticons nodded in agreement.  
  
Just then, something white came soaring through the air from nowhere and exploded against Bombshell’s head.  
  
“What the …?” the Insecticon did not even have time to draw a weapon. But it was not necessary, in ant event, he quickly deduced, wiping his visor and mask. The missile was none other than a well aimed snowball, whose components were now dribbling down his chest. As he pondered it’s source and calculated the likelihood and nuisance value of a further attack, another arrived, this time smacking into one of Shrapnel’s antlers and sending a white wet shower over the stag beetle.  
  
“Hey hey!” Shrapnel yelled casting wildly around as the antler crackled and fizzed.  
  
High pitched laughter erupted from behind a nearby snow covered rockpile.  
  
“Ah!” said Bombshell. “I think the identity of our assailant has just been revealed, Shrapnel. He alone of all of us seems to been enjoying himself immensely. He’s been out here playing since dawn.”  
  
Shrapnel bristled. “Oh he has, has he, he?” he said. “Well it’s not on, on! Peering into the whiteness, he yelled: “Kickback, stop that at once, once. We’re here to fight, fight, not frolic, frolic!”  
  
But he was greeted with more laughter and a snowball which slammed straight into his chestplates, causing him to stagger backwards. This time Bombshell could not help but laugh. Shrapnel, however, was furious. “That’s it, it!” he yelled, starting forward. “I’m coming after you, you!”  
  
“Shrapnel …. ” Bombshell clapped a hand over his faceplates as his colleague surged forward, cringing and shaking his head as Shrapnel straight away lost his balance and tripped, falling headfirst into the whiteness.  
  
Laughter exploded again. Then there was a clank and movement, and a dark, very insectoid shape hurled itself through the air from behind the rocks. It landed with a snow _crunch_ next to Shrapnel, who was hauling himself up. Kickback’s antennae twitched in amusement. “Oh look. A Shrapnel mould!” he said, pointing at the perfectly Shrapnel shaped indent - antlers and all - left in the snow.  
  
Finding his feet again, Shrapnel made an angry grab for the grasshopper, but he leaped easily clear, leaving Shrapnel to stagger forward and fall flat on his face again. Still laughing, Kickback jumped a good forty feet to perch on the rocks, snow erupting in a flurry as he landed.  
  
“Watch this!” he yelled. Shrapnel glowered as the grasshopper performed a perfect somersault, landing in a drift at the foot of the rocks and disappearing altogether. The stag beetle cursed as Bombshell simply shook his head, still chuckling.  
  
A few moments later an entirely white grasshopper emerged, hopping up and resuming his place on top of the rocks. He paused, and then his wings strummed softly in a glittering curtain of white spray, just as the sun came from behind the clouds to sparkle off the white wilderness scene beyond.  
  
Shrapnel decided to abandon his pursuit. Grumbling, he stumbled back to his position beside Bombshell. “Can’t even get any food in this, this!” he muttered. “I would have thought that fact alone would have put him off, off.”  
  
Bombshell was chortling. “Oh I’m sure after a while that unfortunate fact will occur to him!” he said. “In the meantime .…” he said, placing a hand on his colleague’s shoulder. “You have to admit Shrapnel, he does look rather – aesthetically pleasing!”  
  
Kickback had settled, as still as his organic counterparts could be. Coated in white, wings glistening, only the twitch of his antennae belied the fact that he was not a perfectly sculptured crystal snow cricket.  
  
Despite his ire, Shrapnel’s antlers twitched with a great fondness and appreciation for the fellow insect form, the only piece of familiarity - apart from the beetle beside him - in what was still, indisputably, an utterly alien world of complete strangers.  
  
“He does, indeed, Bombshell, Bombshell!” he was forced to agree. “He does indeed, indeed!”


End file.
